


Lie By Omission

by veroreos



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: "Romance", Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Horror, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mystery, Rook Has A Sister, Slow Burn, Stalking, Typical Problematic Seed Behavior, Usual Cult Bullshit, pre-game, small town horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22524424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veroreos/pseuds/veroreos
Summary: Following the death of their mother, half-sisters Rook and Wren reunite in Hope County, the perfect little community for them to catch up and settle down.Ignoring Jacob Seed's determination to use Wren and John Seed's unnerving interest in Rook, of course.
Relationships: Deputy | Judge/John Seed, Jacob Seed/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	1. New Neighbors

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely nobody asked for this, but I've been itching to write it for months, so I hope at least some of you enjoy!
> 
> 3/21/2020 Update: The summary and tags for this fic have changed. It was originally intended to be much more...fluffy, but, uh, that clearly didn't stick. The first two chapters are somewhat soft, but there is a general tone shift after that. Beware!

"Everything looks good.” Whitehorse idly leafs through the papers on his desk as Rook bites back her excitement, trying to maintain an air of professionalism until he officially gives her the position. "Stellar recommendations, high marks on your physical...there was just one thing I wanted to talk to you about."

"If this is about Deputy Pratt, I was just kidding when I told him I'd make him eat his badge." 

The sheriff chuckles, shaking his head. "I've seen him get shot down worse than that, he'll be fine. It's actually about Dr. Caldwell." 

"Wren?" Rook's eyes go wide for a split second before narrowing, brows furrowing and suspicion creeping into her voice. "I told her I didn't want her recommendation." 

"Nothing like that," Whitehorse says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You're being hired of your own merit, don't worry. She didn't call us to fluff you up or anything." The gentleness in his eyes that had been present the entire afternoon shifts into something a bit more serious, gravity that had been absent now laden in his voice. "Dr. Caldwell has been running into some trouble lately." 

"Wren Caldwell, in trouble with the _cops_?" 

Whitehorse frowns, shaking his head again. "Not with us." 

"Then _who?_ _"_

Hope County wasn't exactly Rook's first choice.

She'd spent her whole life in Seattle and was fond of the hustle and bustle of city life. It didn't often rain hard, contrary to popular belief, but the gray skies and cold breeze were present nearly year-round, and even that she had grown accustomed to. Her mother's mother had bought a house on the south side long before the local businesses had started succumbing to gentrification, and her mother had held on to the property with her teeth bared and nails sharpened into claws, daring anyone to take the rickety little home from her cold, dead hands.

Then her mother passed and, well, that was that. Rook's father had died nearly two decades prior in a car accident that left Wren's leg permanently disfigured, and Wren had fled the household the moment she graduated high school to get as far away from their mother as possible. Thus when their mother passed, the house did not go to Wren, but instead to Rook, despite Rook being just shy of 25 and definitely not qualified to take care of a house by herself. 

Rook kept in contact with Wren, though in a rather loose sense. They held some shared interests and talked often about shows they liked or comedians they'd listened to--humor was one of the only things that kept their household from imploding in on itself, but nothing more intimate than that. Everyone in their family tended to be private about emotional matters, Wren an even more extreme case, comparatively speaking. Still, Rook treasured her sister, and she was certain that Wren felt the same, even if her hand shook when she called Wren the day that the city offered to buy the home. 

"Can I move in with you?"

The line went silent, and for a moment Rook wished she could take the words back, but just as quickly Wren responded with a firm "of course," followed by a small,"are you sure?" Rook had never visited Wren's new home, had only gotten a few details through passing conversations with Wren and from one of their cousins who had apparently stopped by while on an impromptu road trip cross country. 'Quaint' was a word thrown around frequently, and while Rook knew the culture shock would take some getting used to, still, it _had_ to be better than living alone in an empty house with nothing but ghosts and memories. 

And so, Rook sold the house, packed up all of her things into her father's old truck, and drove out to Hope County. 

It's not as bad as Rook feared it might be. The scenery is gorgeous, all the food's local, there's not a Starbucks on every street corner--the change of pace is surprisingly nice. It's mostly little things that quickly begin to wear on Rook, like the fact that nearly everyone and their grandmother owns a rifle, or that all the neighbors are nosy about each other’s business, or that she and Wren are two of only a handful of Asian people in the entire county. 

"I'm surprised you like it out here," Rook said on her third night, standing on Wren's front porch with a can of cheap beer in hand. "Thought you couldn't stand rednecks." 

Wren shrugged from where she sat on the steps. "Nobody out here has cable, so patients don't call me House." That had apparently been the recurring 'gag' while _Wren_ was in medical school, and Rook doesn't blame her for wanting to get away from it. The area being so rural doesn't make it easier for Wren to get around with a cane, but not having people constantly reminding her of it is apparently worth the trade-off. 

Rook ends up moving out only a week later to an apartment in Fall's End. It's on the other side of the county and Rook would have preferred to stay close, but Wren's house is a small, one bedroom affair, and Rook living on Wren's sofa quickly got old for both of them.

Wren had picked out a couple of places for Rook to look at and a handful of jobs for Rook to apply for before Rook had even arrived. She'd brushed the whole thing off like it wasn't a big deal, despite how much love and care clearly went into the effort, and the whole thing had Rook on her feet pretty quickly. It was the second week she got a response from the Sheriff, and by the end of the week she was signing on as Junior Deputy.

It was only then, there at the Sheriff's desk, that Rook found out about the county's little secret. 

On the front door to Wren's clinic, a small bell hangs from the handle by a green mesh ribbon. It isn't Wren's style at all; the previous owner of the clinic, a kindly older woman who passed the property over to Wren when it was time to retire, had tied it there when the clinic opened, and despite Wren insisting that she thinks it’s tacky, she's never had the heart to remove it.

The bell makes a tinny ring as Rook opens the door, drawing the attention of the administrator at the front desk. A cheery, heavyset man who can't be much older than Wren, he's a regular fixture of the lobby and has seen Rook the few times she's been to the clinic. He waves before rolling his chair back, poking his head into the open doorway behind him. "Dr. Caldwell, Rook's here!" There's a muffled response that Rook can't quite make out, but it makes the admin laugh before turning back to face Rook. "She'll be right out."

Rook tries to be discreet as she sneaks a glance at the name plate. "No problem. Thanks...Don." 

He blinks at her, then laughs again, a warm and robust sound. "We have regulars who don't remember my name, it's alright." 

“I'm going to get it eventually, I promise!" Don simply keeps laughing as Rook's cheeks turn red. From the few interactions she's had with him, he's definitely not mad, but somehow that makes Rook feel even worse. 

The door in the lobby opens and a familiar face appears; soft cheeks on a round face, thick rimmed glasses sliding halfway off the nose, black hair pulled back into a tight braid. Wren's resting expression is stern, but the fondness in her voice is unmistakable. "Here to cause some ruckus, Rook?" 

"That's _Deputy Fallows_ to you," Rook proudly announces, holding up the neatly pressed uniform by its hanger. Wren smiles and opens her mouth to offer congratulations, but Rook raises a hand to stop her from continuing. "Hold on, I have a beef to pick with you." 

"Oh? So ruckus it is, then." Shifting to the side to make room for Rook to pass, Wren glances to the front desk. "I'm on lunch, Don." The chipper man gives a thumbs up from behind the computer in acknowledgement. Rook moves to catch the door so Wren can lead the way _,_ Wren settling her weight on her cane before guiding Rook through the hallway back to her office.

Rook's only been inside of Wren's personal office once or twice. Wren generally insists on meeting elsewhere for lunch, despite Rook offering to come here for Wren's convenience. It seems cozy enough, if somewhat sparse as far as personal touches go, but Rook now has a few guesses as to why.

"So, when were you going to tell me that there's a fucking _cult_ here?” Wren rolls her eyes as she moves to sit down on the other side of the desk, propping her cane up against the drawers. "Don't you roll your eyes at me, this is serious! The Sheriff had to tell me! _And_ he told me that they've been hounding you!"

"The whole county is getting hounded, it's not a big deal." Rook's not sure if Wren is downplaying the situation for Rook's benefit, or if Wren genuinely thinks so little of the group. Either way, Wren leans back in her chair, drumming her fingers idly along one of the armrests. "Some of the locals called the cops when I was arguing with one of the project's goons, disturbing the peace and whatnot. You know how loud I can get." 

Rook does, but that’s beside the point. "Wren Juniper Caldwell, you cannot be fucking serious right now." Wren tilts her head as if she has no idea what Rook's talking about, and Rook has to fight the urge to jump the desk just to shake some sense into her. "We live in a small town in the middle of _nowhere_ with cell signal that's spotty on the best of days and covered in forests and shit, and it's infested with a wackjob doomsday cult that worships some white dude and his weird-ass family, and you're somehow okay with that?!" 

Rook's voice steadily rises until she's shouting by the end of it. Wren keeps the same straight face, waiting patiently for Rook to get it out of her system, before speaking. "First of all, I already checked if they're white supremacists, and they're not, so that's my biggest concern off the table. Secondly, I have a copy of their 'holy book', and aside from being self-absorbed dribble, it doesn't seem that malicious." Rook can't hide her skepticism, and Wren shrugs in response. "The only real problem I have is that their leader has a serious Jim Jones vibe about him. Same charisma, same selfish demands spun to sound like moral obligation, same toxic codependent relationship between him and his followers. But, hey, that's organized religion for you." 

"Oh, thanks Dracula, have anything else edgy and apathetic you wanna say about it?" 

"Their leader doesn't wear a funny little hat, so I think the Catholic Church still has a leg up on them." 

It takes a great deal of effort not to laugh, Rook's cheek muscle twitching involuntarily, but she manages to swallow her amusement to keep her disapproving frown intact. "Didn't like, hundreds of people die at Jonestown though? How are you going to compare them and then say it's not a big deal?" 

"A little under a thousand people were killed, actually." The fact that Wren knows that off the top of her head is somehow even more infuriating. "But Jonestown was on a privately owned island with Jones and his militia acting as the only form of government. We have a functioning police force that just hired on another incredibly competent officer." Rook can't help but blush and pouts, Wren giving a surprisingly warm smile in return. "I'm not worried." 

There's a million more questions that Rook wants to ask when the speaker from Wren's desk phone clicks on. " _Dr. Caldwell? I know you said you're on lunch, but--uh, Jacob Seed is here_." It's the first time Rook's heard Don sound _nervous_.

"Speak of the devil and he will appear," Wren mumbles before reaching for the handset. "Any chance he's willing to fuck off?"

There's a laugh that isn't Don's, then a different voice coming through the phone. Deeper and with smug attitude practically bleeding from the words. “ _Not today, doc._ "

Despite Wren's reassurances, Rook is already itching to kick this guy's ass. "Simmer down, Rook," is all Wren offers before pressing the button again. "You've got 10 minutes, Seed. Make 'em count." There's a small 'thank you' from Don, and then Wren is nodding to the door. "I'll catch up with you later." 

"What the _fuck_!" Rook stands up so abruptly she nearly knocks her chair over, though neither of them acknowledge it. "This fuckwad thinks he's so important that he can just come in here whenever he wants, and, and--what, he's part of that wacko cult bullshit, and you're just going to let him waltz on in?"

"Do you trust me?" Rook opens her mouth, but this time when Wren smiles, there's an exhausted sort of weariness to it, and Rook fails to think of anything to say in return. "Let me handle it. I'll let you know if it's too much." As much as Rook wants to fight still, Wren already looks decidedly done with the conversation, so Rook mentally shelves it for the time being and simply gives Wren _a look_ before stepping out. 

Jacob Seed passes by in the hall as Rook is leaving, and she resists the urge to make eye contact, even though she can see him sizing her up out of her peripheral. There's no visible reaction from him, and if Rook had to guess, he hasn't made the connection. Most people don't until it's pointed out to them; Rook's skin is a few shades lighter, her cheeks sharper and her jawline more squared. It's usually the similarity in the nose and eyes that give it away, but with sunglasses planted firmly on her face, she doubts Jacob would guess her relation to Wren.

Don waves goodbye as Rook moves through the lobby, and she pauses at the door, glancing to the front desk. "Hey, Don? Give me a call if there's trouble, alright?" 

He flashes her a thumbs up, and with a sigh, Rook steps outside, the small bell ringing behind her.


	2. Backfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wren tries to distance herself from Eden's Gate. It doesn't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a whole thing written about Wren and Jacob first meeting that was going to be included in this chapter, but it, uh, ended up being like 3k words on its own, not including the rest of this chapter, so. I'll figure out where to slot that in later, maybe make it its own separate work?

"New officer?" Jacob casually closes the door behind him with his foot as he enters the office. “Noticed she was carrying a uniform."

Wren watches him take a seat from where she's slumped back in her chair with clear disinterest, resting her chin on her hand. "You know, your ability to mind your own business is usually what makes you my favorite Seed."

"John would be real heartbroken if he heard that, doc." Despite his words, Jacob has the usual smug grin, leaning back and making himself far more comfortable than he has any right to be. 

"Maybe if John wasn't such a nosey piece of shit, he'd be halfway tolerable." Wren's practically scowling, but Jacob simply shrugs. He's well aware of his brothers' flaws and unwilling to pretend they don't exist, which is another thing that puts Jacob several ranks above John. Wren studies him for a moment, Jacob doing the same to her in turn. She doesn't bother hiding the annoyed tone in her voice. "This about your 'request'?" 

Where Wren's gaze is wary, Jacob's is sharp, piercing as he stares her down. “It's been a week. Figured I'd _check in_ and see where we're at." 

"You realize I can't keep ordering supplies for you, right?" Jacob's gaze doesn't waver and she shakes her head. "I don't even mean ethically, since I _know_ you don't give a shit about that--my license could be on the line. It's not exactly _responsible_ to order high grade medical supplies in bulk for a bunch of doomsday fanatics. I don't care if John is a lawyer, I didn't work my ass off for a doctorate just to jeopardize it all on you freaks."

The arrangement hadn’t seemed so under-the-table when it began. From what Wren understands, Jacob runs some sort of next-level Eagle Scout camp out in the Whitetails, and they’d requested help procuring supplies for their emergency stock. They didn’t have any actual medical staff on hand, the operation apparently wasn’t large enough to warrant that, but it was always better to play it safe and Wren was plenty willing to help out.

Yet for some reason, the supplies seemed to dwindle quickly, and soon they were asking again, and again, more frequently and in larger quantities. People didn’t talk much about whatever Jacob was up to out in the mountains, but there was ample gossip about Joseph’s group and their supposed apocalypse bunkers. Jacob had never told her where the supplies were going, and Wren never asked him to.

She came to her own conclusions.

Jacob's quiet for a long moment, running something over in his mind, though Wren can't even begin to guess at what. She's been around enough questionable people to know how to read most of them, but she learned upon his arrival that Jacob is another beast entirely. Like facing a wild animal, she tries to look fearless, head held still as he calculates whatever his next move will be. When he shifts and straightens out his posture, she resists the urge to mirror his movement. 

“So what do you suggest, doc?" Jacob doesn't look quite _smug,_ but he has an air of confidence that feels undeserved. “You haven't said 'no,' so either you're going to order it anyway, or you have something else in mind."

Wren would throttle him if he weren't right. Or nearly twice her size. She sighs, mostly for dramatic effect, as she finally sits up. "I'm willing to give you my honest opinion if you're willing to hear it, Seed. Not about the fanaticism of your group, but about your survival strategy." 

There's the unmistakable glint of curiosity in his eyes as Jacob raises a brow. "Sure, I'll bite." 

Moving her cane aside, Wren reaches for the keys in her coat pocket and unlocks the bottom drawer of her desk, ignoring Jacob's intense gaze. The amount of work it took to deliver this moment pays off when she sets a thick blue binder in front of Jacob, watching the surprise flicker across his face. It's rare to catch a man like Jacob Seed by surprise, and Wren thoroughly intends to burn that expression into her memory to savor for later. 

"You need a more sustainable plan," Wren says as Jacob takes the binder and flips it open, brows creasing as he tries to process what she's handed him. "You've built bunkers and stashed away supplies with the plan of waiting out the apocalypse, but what about after that? What are your plans for long-term food production? Clean water? How many of you know how to make soap or cloth? How long will you need to stay in the bunkers for, how long until the soil is safe to grow food? Which places in the county have the most fertile soil? What kinds of crops should you grow, how often should you rotate them?" 

Jacob's flipping through the pages as she speaks, his expression back to something carefully neutral. She admittedly has no idea what he's thinking, but he at least seems engaged with what she's giving him, so she pushes on anyway. "I understand having faith in Joseph, but if you're serious about this, you need to put much more thought into how you're going to prepare your folks. We're talking about rebuilding civilization from the ground up in a post-apocalyptic scenario--it's not as easy as hoarding cans in a cellar or teaching people basic camping skills."

To that, Jacob outright snorts, but he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he sets the binder on the desk, open to one of Wren's hand-drawn diagrams that maps out the path of radioactive fallout in one of many hypothetical nuclear events. "You sure put a _lot_ of effort into this, didn't you?" 

"All my shows are between seasons, I have time to kill." Wren eyes the open pages, brows creasing in dissatisfaction. "Besides, these are all pretty loose projections based on...like, basic Google searches. You want accurate models? Hire some actual experts, start doing the legwork." 

Jacob's looking over the binder, but his thoughts seem to be elsewhere, gaze eventually flicking back up to Wren. “You care about the project." It's not a question, not with the certainty in his voice. 

"I care about _people,"_ she clarifies, though without denying the statement. "There's hundreds of people in the county looking up to you guys, blindly following you because they think you're going to save them. I can't keep recklessly supplying you without taking some responsibility for what happens." Wren pauses, suddenly feeling vulnerable from the admission, and she looks away. "Also, it seemed like a fun challenge, so I wanted to do it. Just to say I did." 

The sound of the binder closing with a soft _thwump_ draws Wren's attention back to Jacob. He rises to his feet, picking up the binder with one hand. "Let's make a deal." 

Wren blinks up at him, caught off guard. "A deal?" 

"I'll show this to Joseph," Jacob holds up the binder and taps it with his free hand for emphasis, "see if I can convince him to invest in the research you're suggesting.”

That's too good to not be bait, and Wren narrows her eyes, waiting for the catch. “In exchange?"

Jacob grins, and it's reminiscent of a wolf baring its teeth, closing in on prey. He leans in, planting his hand on the desk to lower himself so that he's eye level with Wren. “If Joseph agrees, you help us finish this plan.”

Of course. "When I said to hire some experts, I didn't mean _me_ ," she says, ignoring how Jacob is now a tad too close for comfort. "I'm a physician, I don't know anything about agriculture or radiation. ...Or camping." 

"We'll get experts," Jacob agrees, rearing back to full height. “But you need to be the one to pull it all together." 

"Why?" While she'd been hoping Jacob would be on board, this isn't the direction Wren imagined the conversation taking, and there's a distinct sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Why me?" 

"Would you really be alright watching someone else finish what you started?" Wren stares at him blankly, cursing both him for knowing her well and herself for being predictable. 

It doesn't take long for her to weigh her options. She's already kicking herself for getting further entangled with the project, but this might be the best chance for someone to talk some sense into them. Maybe keep them from going completely off the deep end, from _really_ hurting people.

"Your ten minutes are up," Wren says after very deliberately looking at the clock on her wall. Jacob doesn't point out she dodged the question, nor does he bother asking again.

They both know she's backed herself into a corner.

Jacob bids her farewell with "see you soon," and the thought of the rapidly approaching future looming over the horizon makes Wren shudder. Once the door shuts, she sets her glasses on her desk, running a hand down her face and exhaling a deep breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. 

She makes a quick note to pick up booze on the way home.


	3. Sighted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook also tries to distance herself from Eden's Gate. It goes just as poorly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I initially set out to write this, I wanted it to be kind of fluffy, but I didn't want to downplay how terrible Eden's Gate is, and then I got really wrapped up in emphasizing it, and before I knew it the whole fic has shifted to more of a horror vibe?? I'm going to rewrite the summary and tags accordingly. There will still be, uh, "romance," of sorts, but it appears I have accidentally sheared away all of the fluff.

To Rook’s credit, she intended to follow Wren’s advice and stay far away from whatever the Eden’s Gate nonsense was all about. It wasn’t her fault that someone knocked on her door, welcomed her to town with a freshly baked pie, and invited her to Sunday’s mass.

“Do you think it’s poisoned?” Rook uses her shoulder to hold the phone to her ear, inspecting the pie in the sunlight from her kitchen window as if that would somehow make it easier to discern the pie’s safety. “Or like—drugged? They’re a bunch of stoners, right?”

“ _More likely the latter than the former_.” Wren’s voice is very matter-of-fact, and it’s only through familiarity that Rook can pick up on her amusement. “ _A lot of those homebody wives are great at baking, so it’s probably delicious. Just make sure you’re not operating any heavy machinery for the rest of the evening._ ”

It’s tempting, but Rook sets the pie on the counter for now. “She seemed really nice. I feel kind of bad.” Her name was Susanna, if Rook was remembering right. Rook had been distracted by the woman’s straw hat that had a big fresh sunflower pinned to it, along with the warm apple pie she was delivering, so her name wasn’t the first thing to stick in Rook’s mind.

“ _If you go one week and not the next, they’ll try even harder to reel you in. It’s better not to get their hopes up._ ”

“You make them sound like con artists.”

“ _Rook, what is a cult if not a giant scam?_ ”

“Even if the leaders are frauds, that doesn’t mean all their followers are!” Rook plops onto the old leather love seat awkwardly crammed into the corner of her living room, draping her legs over the armrest. She mentally makes note of a small stain on the ceiling. “I’m sure this nice woman genuinely wants to welcome me into the community and thinks that their weird little church is going to be my salvation or something.”

“ _You really want to hang out with people who think your salvation is their business?_ ”

Rook blows a loud raspberry into the phone. “No, but I’m at least _trying_ to be considerate about other people’s feelings! I can’t believe you’ve made it this long as a doctor being such an ass all the time.”

“ _Hey, if you have to choose between sour grapes or dying of tetanus, most people pick the grapes_.”

So Rook doesn’t go that Sunday, and she does a great job of not feeling bad about it, too. Aside from the pressure of obligation, she has no real interest in going—their mother had raised them Catholic, and much like Wren, Rook became decidedly fed up with religious institutions rather quickly. Obviously there was a difference between the global might of the Catholic Church and a small branch of…Baptists? The different branches of Christianity tended to blur together as far as Rook was concerned. Still, with both Whitehorse and Wren warning her about the church, Rook would rather not go against their advice.

She puts the whole thing out of her mind when Wren invites her to go fishing with some friends Sunday afternoon, and it doesn’t even occur to her that there might be church activities elsewhere until Rook is rolling up to a local park and some members of Eden’s Gate are having a picnic.

“Ah, fuck me,” Rook says to herself as she looks up at the large banner strung between two trees, the church’s symbol displayed proudly on surprisingly nice canvas. It looks like people are still setting up tables and blankets, so the entire group hasn’t arrived in full force yet. Rook lowers her sunglasses from the top of her head onto her face, whipping out her phone to shoot Wren a quick text of warning, ignoring the few churchgoers that are peering curiously at her car.

The _slam_ of a car door right next to her own makes Rook involuntarily jump, but when she jerks her head to look, she sighs with relief and moves to get out of her car. “Kim and Nick?”

“That would be us!” Kim Rye climbs out of the passenger’s seat and immediately meets Rook for an enthusiastic handshake. Rook’s not surprised in the slightest that one of Wren’s closest friends is also one of the only other Asian women in the county, nor is Rook surprised at how friendly Kim is right off the bat. “It’s so nice to meet you, Rook! We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All terrible things, I’m sure?”

A man pops up from the other side of the car. “Oh, absolutely _awful_ things.” Nick Rye walks around the hood of his car, opting to pat Rook on the shoulder with a warm smile. “But in most of her stories, you’re about 4 feet tall with a big head and braces.”

He’s about to say something else when the picnic catches his eye, and all the cheer drains from his face, replaced with a grimace. Kim still smiles, but the concern in her eyes is plain. “We should hurry along. Did Wren ride with you?”

“No, she’s driving herself. She said she had some work to take care of this morning.” Rook eyes the picnic area again from her peripheral, trying not to outright gawk like Nick is doing. “Is there another way down to the river?”

“There’s a couple of ways,” Nick says, frowning as he turns back to Rook. “This is the only paved path down to the fishing dock, though.” There’s no doubt in Rook’s mind that Wren would insist she’s fine to walk the rough terrain, but Rook knows better than to trust her on that. “Oh, _fuck off_ , John’s here?”

It’s clear who Nick is referring to without having to point. There’s only one person among the churchgoers dressed better than everyone else and with a posture that reeks of smug self-assurance. He might have been handsome if Rook didn’t want to instinctively punch him on sight.

“Kim, help me grab the fishing poles,” Nick quickly says, turning away just as some of the church members speak to John and his attention turns to the three of them. “Hopefully Wren’ll get here soon and we can avoid them crossing paths.”

“Wait, what?” Rook blinks as Nick and Kim pop open the back of their car, Nick starting to rifle through a wide selection of equipment in the back. “Why? What’s wrong with Wren and John?”

Kim sighs as she’s handed a box of fishing tackles. “I don’t know the details, but we’re trying to avoid a reenactment of the Infamous Seed-Caldwell Blowout.”

“ _Infamous?_ ” It’s as John Seed starts to head their direction that Rook suddenly connects the dots. “Oh my god, is _that_ why someone called the cops on them?”

Despite the building tension, Nick still manages to laugh. “Sure is! We could hear them yelling from clear cross the county. Well, we could hear Wren, anyway.” Nick peeks over the top of his car and swears as he sees who’s approaching. “ _Shit_. He can’t be fuckin’ serious.”

“I’ve got it.” As awkward as the situation is, Rook figures she might as well practice keeping the peace if she’s going to be any good at her job. She shoves her hands in her pockets and walks a long, leisurely stride to meet John before he can reach their cars, despite the sharp whisper from Nick for her to stay put. Rook even makes sure to get the first word, quickly interjecting just as John starts to open his mouth. “Sorry to bother you guys! We’re just going to be passing through, didn’t mean to intrude.”

John raises a brow, not quite surprised, but curious. He offers a smile and if it were anyone else, the gesture might have been welcoming. “No need to apologize, you’re more than welcome to join us. The more the merrier, after all.” John’s gaze flicks to the Ryes for a brief moment before he looks back to Rook. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

“Yeah, just moved here.” Against her better judgment, Rook outstretches her hand. “Rook Fallows.”

There’s an immediate glint of recognition in John’s eyes as he returns the gesture. His grip is firm, but it’s brief—just toeing the line of impersonal—and Rook recognizes it as a businessman’s handshake. “Ah! You’re Susanna’s new neighbor, over in Fall’s End.”

It had hardly been two weeks since Rook finished moving in. She makes herself laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as unsettled as she feels. “It really is a small county, huh?”

“We make an effort to get to know everyone. After all, why be strangers when we could be _family_?”

A shiver shoots down Rook’s spine like a bolt of lightning. There might have been a kind sentiment to John’s words, if it weren’t for the distinct lack of warmth behind them. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and she can feel how closely he’s studying her, like an insect under a microscope, looking for...weakness? Potential? She’s not sure, but it leaves her feeling so uneasy she can’t think of anything to say in response and instead she swallows nervously.

Thankfully, John speaks instead of waiting for the silence to grow awkward, most likely noticing her discomfort and deciding to take pity. “Well, it’s a pleasure to have you here. Are you sure I can’t interest you in joining us? Susanna made a potato salad using her family’s secret recipe, and it’s to die for.”

“Not this time, but thank you.” Rook puts her hands back in her pockets, rolling her shoulders and feigning a relaxed posture, desperate to wrangle back some sort of control over the conversation. “So, what brings a guy like you to the middle of nowhere?” John cocks his head slightly with a curious look, and Rook gives a polite smile. “Not a lot of people here dress like that, you know.” She pointedly looks down to his designer shoes. “Can’t think of anyone here who’d even notice you’re wearing Louboutin to a picnic.”

The statement seems to spark something in John as he looks her up and down, the appraisal so quick Rook almost misses it. This time when he grins, he flashes his teeth. “I’m actually a lawyer. You’re sharp—not a lot of people here have an eye for detail like that.” It’s clear he’s impressed, but instead of easing off, he now seems more acutely focused on Rook, and she can’t help but feel she’s made a misstep. “What brings _you_ here, Rook?”

Panic rises in her throat and she knows instantly that she shouldn’t answer the question. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to, as a car pulls up behind her right then and catches John’s attention. John’s grin flattens into a tight line, and Rook bites back a laugh as she turns, waiting for the door to open. “Well, look who decided to show up!”

Wren steps out and yawns, reaching her arms behind her and stretching her back. “Sorry, sorry. Don’s busy with his kids today so I had to take care of some paperwork.”

“Dr. Caldwell,” John says through a stiff approximation of a smile, expression pinched and voice strained. “What a surprise to see you here.”

A cold breeze blows over the park as Wren shifts her attention to John, giving him all the consideration one might give a cockroach before squashing it flat with a newspaper. “It’s a public park, Seed. I don’t need an invitation.”

John starts to raise his hackles, so to speak, but Kim steps in, quickly intervening by putting her hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Want me to carry anything for you?”

“Don’t worry, I plan to use Rook as a pack mule.” Wren reaches into her car to pull out a small cooler, passing it along to Rook who rolls her eyes. After grabbing her cane and adjusting herself, Wren casually walks past John without another word, Nick jogging to catch up to her with fishing poles in hand.

John’s anger is rather poorly masked, but seems to fizzle out when Rook gives him an apologetic smile. “It was nice to meet you, John.” She trails after the others, ignoring the involuntary shudder as John watches her go.

  
  


“How bad is Eden’s Gate?”

Nick looks over to Rook from his lawn chair propped open at the end of the dock, the fishing pole that’s been undisturbed for the past hour sitting in the cup holder of his armrest. “Didn’t Wren tell you? She’s the one who read up on those wackos.”

Rook, having lost her third piece of bait today yet with no catch to show for it, set her pole aside ten minutes ago, content to watch the slow run of the river instead. “She didn’t bother telling me about them when I moved here to begin with. I found out from someone else, and when I asked her about them, she just sort of blew the whole thing off.”

“Sounds like her, alright.” On the shore, Kim and Wren are cozied up at one of the park’s picnic tables, talking to each other in hushed voices over a shared plate of scones. Nick watches the two for a moment before speaking again. “They’re bad news, Rook. I don’t mean to sound like those paranoid rednecks that don’t drink tap water and wear the tin foil hats or whatever, but seriously, there’s something really wrong about them.”

Just remembering John’s intense gaze makes Rook’s stomach turn. “I think I know what you mean.”

“Have you met the other siblings?”

“Not really. I passed by Jacob at the clinic, but that’s it.”

Nick frowns, brows creasing as he seems to mull that over. “Jacob was there? Was he injured or something?”

“It didn’t seem like it? He said he wanted to talk to her, but I didn’t get any more details. That’s weird, right? It seemed weird.”

“ _Super_ weird. She badmouths the whole family every chance she gets, to their _faces_ even. I don’t know why Jacob would bother.” Rook only barely got a look at Jacob as she left, but she remembers his eyes—John had a similar sort of intensity, like he was faced with something much larger than a Sunday picnic. Whatever Jacob had to discuss with Wren, Rook can only imagine how big it must be to put up with Wren’s mouth.

Silence washes over them and they’re left with the white noise of the river. Rook looks up to watch the clouds drift by, white wisps passing over the pinks and oranges of sunset bleeding into the horizon, the faint glow of stars already beginning to freckle the sky. She’d never had a view like this back in Seattle, given that it was cloudy most days of the year, yet she can’t seem to relax and enjoy it. The moment should bring peace, but there’s a thick tension in the air that Rook is starting to realize has settled over the entire county, and whatever darkness is brewing beneath the county’s idyllic rustic surface is getting closer to rearing its head with every passing day.

“So what’s the verdict?” Kim’s voice rings out from the shore, catching the attention of the two on the dock. “We havin’ salmon for dinner?”

Nick snorts, sitting up in his chair to see his wife better. “We’re gonna starve if you’re waiting for us to catch salmon, baby.”

The groan from Kim is of both disappointment and sympathy. From the other side of the table, Wren sets her chin on her hand, watching with an amused smile. Kim gets up and walks onto the dock, teasing Nick over the lack of haul, and Rook quickly realizes she’s about to become third wheel and stands to go join Wren at the park seating.

Wren’s gaze flicks to Rook for only a moment before looking back to the Ryes. “You learn all about the joys and wonders of fishing?”

Rook shrugs, resting her elbows on the table. “It seems more like an excuse to sit around and drink booze with friends, so…yes?”

“If you _actually_ want to try to catch something, we can find someone to teach you, but I promise it’ll be much less fun.”

“I think I’m good.” The Ryes are laughing about something together, and Rook watches them, not looking to Wren. “Does Jacob Seed know how to fish?”

Wren doesn’t immediately respond, or even visibly react. There’s a long moment where Rook can’t tell what Wren is thinking—something that’s becoming more common the more Rook spends time with her, oddly enough—but eventually, Wren huffs out a small laugh. “With his bare hands or a spear, maybe. I can’t imagine him with the patience for it otherwise.” It isn’t hard for Rook to imagine Jacob as the kind of guy to live off the terrain with nothing but a hunting knife and survival instincts.

“Ooh, so you like the rugged type?” In less than a second, Wren’s head snaps to look at Rook, any trace of amusement gone in an instant, and Rook holds up her hands in a show of surrender. “I’m just curious! Some lumberjack looking asshole shows up to talk to you in your private office, you guys seemed to know each other, it’s hard to tell sometimes if you genuinely don’t like someone or if you’re just teasing—“

“No, _Rook_ , I don’t secretly enjoy having my free time taken up by these fucking lunatics who think I don’t have anything better to do than listen to their goddamn _drivel_!” Wren stops herself when she realizes she’s shouting, voice echoing slightly into the distance. She doesn’t acknowledge the Ryes staring at her from the dock and instead takes a deep breath, shoving up her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Jacob is the most _tolerable_ of his siblings, and talking to him means I don’t have to deal with the rest of them. They’re an influential part of the county, whether I like it or not, and if making the time for Jacob means that John will never plague my doorway again, I’ll take it.”

Wren has never been great at lying, especially not in dramatic fashion, so Rook takes the reaction as genuine. She can’t quite figure out _why_ Wren thinks it’s so necessary, but she doubts Wren would let her push the issue much further. Rook reaches across the table to give Wren’s hand a gentle squeeze of comfort, and after a moment of hesitation, Wren gives her a small, tired smile, squeezing Rook’s hand back.

“…But you _do_ like the rugged type, right?”

Nick and Kim have a hard time deciding whether or not to intervene as Wren attempts to shove Rook into the river, Wren shouting obscenities and Rook laughing all the while.

  
  


By the time they head back to their cars, the picnic is mostly wrapped up, only a handful of people around to finish packing. The sun has mostly set, the sky a dark shade of pink melting into deep purple, and those still lingering are nothing more than dark silhouettes standing in the grass as Rook passes by.

Kim is saying something about one of the local bars when a man’s voice catches their attention. “Dr. Caldwell, if you have a minute?” The voice isn’t one Rook recognizes, but when she turns and is met with a familiar burning in a pair of bright blue eyes, Rook knows immediately that he must be the last Seed brother.

Wren’s irritation is nearly palpable, yet she grits her teeth and bears it rather than telling him off. “You guys go on ahead, I’ll catch up with you.”

Despite the way he speaks, tone warm and inviting, Joseph Seed wears a smile that doesn’t quite fit on his face. It’s tempting to stay and study the man who has enraptured half of Hope County, but Jacob is suddenly strolling up alongside Joseph with what can only be described as a shit-eating smirk, and Rook doesn’t want to wait around for John to show.

“You sure you don’t want us to stay?” It’s less of a question and more of an insistence from Nick, narrowing his eyes at Jacob’s presence. “We don’t mind keeping you company.”

Jacob looks almost relaxed in his confidence, crossing his arms over his chest and raising a brow. “I don’t think the good doctor needs you making choices for her, Rye.”

Just as Nick is starting to clench his fists, Wren rolls her eyes. “Jacob, shut up. Nick, calm down. Joseph—you have 10 minutes.”

Before anyone can put in another word, Wren dismissively waves them off, and Kim takes the initiative to drag Nick and Rook both back to their cars. Rook glances back just in time to see Joseph put his hand on Wren’s shoulder, the gesture making Rook’s blood boil. It’s impossible to make out what Joseph is saying, but he doesn’t react when Wren frowns and swats his hand away, seemingly unfazed by her disdain. Rook is tempted to wait for Wren, but when Joseph looks over and makes eye contact with Rook for the briefest of seconds, Rook’s ready to duck back into her car and bolt.

Kim and Nick are arguing in hushed voices as they get to the parking lot, and Rook awkwardly fiddles with her car keys. “Uh—I have orientation tomorrow morning, so I don’t know about the bar tonight—“

“Don’t worry about it, we’ll go some other time.” Nick instantly flips back to being completely affable, despite the lingering tension in his shoulders. “We’ll stay here and wait for Wren, too. Keep an eye on her and make sure she’s back in ten.”

They exchange pleasantries and phone numbers before Rook slips back into her car, eager to get home and try to forget about the Seeds for the evening. A quick text to Wren 15 minutes later is responded to instantly with an annoyed emoji, followed with a slightly more cordial ‘ _everything is fine, don’t worry so much_.’ Rook worries only a fraction less, but it’s enough to let her focus on other things. She takes a nice hot shower, a few minutes longer than she’d normally give herself just to close her eyes and relax under the spray, then wraps herself in the big, fluffy white robe Don had given her as a welcoming gift.

Her thoughts depart entirely from the Seeds and instead shift to her first day on the job coming up. Her uniform was already pressed, she planned what lunch she was going to pack in the morning, she set three alarms on her phone to be certain she got up on time—Rook was lost in thought as she moved through her evening routine, mindlessly folding clothes and intermittently scrolling through social media. It wasn’t until she went to water her plants that she noticed something amiss.

Her window box wasn’t anything to brag about; a couple of already blooming flowers were rooted for show, but most of the seeds and buds she’d planted were still waiting to sprout. Rook pushed the old window up to poke her head out, just enough to look over the small garden, and as she was taking count of which little seedlings had chosen to brave past the soil, she noticed a car parked across the street. Not entirely unusual, save for the headlights being on and the engine still running.

A few people were gathered outside it, chatting and bidding each other farewell. None of them were recognizable, save for one woman in a crisp sundress and straw hat. Rook pauses, spotting the sunflower beaming up at her from where it sits prettily on the brim of the hat, and she takes a moment to look over the group once more. Susanna is the only one she knows out of them, but something else strikes her instead—the car itself is sleek and black, not quite a luxury car but certainly far nicer than anything else Rook has seen around the county.

Rook suspects she knows who the driver is.

Her grip tightens on the windowsill as fear lodges itself in her throat, unease already beginning to gnaw away at her stomach. It’d be easiest to just feign ignorant, to close the window and shut the blinds and pretend like she didn’t notice anything—avoid dealing with whatever mischief is at play, even if it’s only delaying it for a little longer. But Wren comes to mind, how Jacob and Joseph are pushing her around despite all of her bravado, and Rook quickly burns the fear away with stubborn defiance, forcing her eyes to the driver’s seat of the car.

Blue eyes meet her own, John staring back at her from the leather seat he’s comfortably relaxed in. Both wait for one of them to make the first move as they stare each other down, Rook finding herself scowling as John starts to grin. It’s one of the churchgoers that ends up breaking the tension, leaning in through the passenger window and saying something to John that catches his attention. The split second he looks away is all Rook needs to slam the window shut and drop the blinds.

Rook stays completely still and holds her breath until she hears the car drive away. She peeks through the slits of the blinds just to be sure, lets herself heave out a deep sigh, then goes to cover and lock the rest of her windows.

It’s a long, long time before Rook finally manages to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are all doing well and staying safe. Please feel free to leave constructive feedback or just comment to say hello :)


	4. Soft Edges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wren and Jacob are closer than she'd like to admit, especially with Jacob eagerly closing the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had most of this written for a long while but couldn't decide how to end it? I've had more time to write recently and suddenly got the urge to continue this, so. Hope you are all staying safe and please enjoy.

It’s not the first time Wren’s worked with Jacob Seed.

When he and his brothers arrived a little over a year ago, she’d heard plenty about them from local gossip and had decided from the very beginning to keep away. However, her time in the county worked against her; though Wren wasn’t exactly the social neighbor that knew everyone by name, she’d been one of the only doctors in the county for nearly a decade now, and plenty of folks had been treated by her once or twice. Joseph and John, who aimed to be the model of friendliness, were bound to hear about her sooner or later, and it wasn’t long before each had found their way to her doorstep.

Joseph had the pleasure of being introduced by one of her well-meaning patients. Wren had responded politely enough through gritted teeth and icy gaze, and Joseph heard the message loud and clear by the time he left. If nothing else, Wren would give him that—Joseph knew when and where to pick his battles, and had the patience of a seasoned general.

John did not. For all of the crisp clothing and salesman charm that John had, he didn’t have an ounce of Joseph’s restraint.

When the news came that Wren’s mother passed away, she’d handled it…not exactly ‘well,’ though when asked about it, she’d snap shut like a clam and refuse to accept any sympathy over the matter. John, master of faux social grace, had the brilliant idea to waltz on over to the clinic with an arrangement of flowers to butter her up, perhaps convince her to attend mass that Sunday, offering for Joseph to say something nice about her _dearly departed_ mother. And Wren, already at the end of her rope, nearly bit his head off right then and there for it, in front of her patients, Joseph’s followers, the neighbors, the cops that came after the disturbance was called in, and God.

In her fury, Wren used some rather vulgar language to describe Joseph and his “messiah complex,” and John hadn’t responded well to _that_ in the slightest. Thankfully it’s kept John from ever stepping foot in the clinic again, which Wren counts as a victory.

Meeting Jacob, on the other hand, had been a sheer coincidence for both of them. While Wren understood the man to be much more of a loner than his brothers, she’d heard he occasionally hangs around some other vets and hunters, and it was a hunting accident that had Jacob hauling one of her long-time patients into her living room at 2am one summer evening.

“Good lord,” Wren said as Jacob deposited the young man onto the couch. “You look like absolute shit, Dakota.”

Despite the concerning amount of blood soaking his clothes and the way he crumpled over in pain, the lanky teen still managed to wheeze out a laugh. A good sign. “Don’t feel much better than it looks, ma’am.”

“Took a bad hit from a bear on his right side,” Jacob said, perfectly composed even though Dakota was still shaking from adrenaline. He’d called ahead to let her know he was coming and sounded just as calm over the phone, too. “Arm is probably broken, possibly some ribs.”

Wren quickly checked Dakota’s eyes with a flashlight before prodding at his chest, frowning when he winced and sharply gasped. She continued speaking to Dakota as she worked. “I didn’t realize you’d taken to wrestling bears. I’m _pretty sure_ you promised to stop goofing off in the woods after last time, when your sister accidentally shot you.”

“We weren’t _goofin’_ ,” Dakota whined, though he failed to elaborate further. “Ma’am, please don’t make me go to the hospital. You know how much that shit cost? When Old Mr. Parker hurt his hip they made him go and then they went and charged him twenty thousand dollars, and before he even got better he saw the bill and had a heart attack and kicked it.” Wren was hardly listening, but keeping Dakota awake and focused was going to work to their advantage if he was fighting blood loss. She handed him some gauze and showed him how to hold it properly against his side to staunch the flow. “Now Wendy down at the diner’s gotta pay the hospital even though they didn’t even save her pa.”

“I’m not making you go anywhere, now lay still.” Wren nearly jumped when Jacob was suddenly next to her, handing over the emergency kit from her bathroom. If it were any other situation, she’d be annoyed that he looked through her things—in this case, she was just glad he took the initiative. He helped her wordlessly as she stitched Dakota up and set the bone, even lingered in her kitchen when she didn’t need his assistance anymore, waiting for her to finish.

Dakota had managed to doze off when Wren finally emerged from the archway into the kitchen, sighing and letting her hair down from the quick bun she’d pulled it into two hours prior. “Thanks for bringing him in. Idiot probably would’ve tried to walk home like that if you’d’ve let him.”

“He _did_ try. Made it 5 feet before he ate shit.” The only seating was at the small table in the corner of the kitchen, barely just big enough for Wren and Rook and absolutely dwarfed by Jacob’s stature alone. He looked almost comically uncomfortable squished onto the small chair—distantly, she could imagine her late step-father describing him as a bear riding a unicycle—though the serious look on Jacob’s face detracted from the humor of the situation.

Wren shook her head as she moved to start up the coffee maker. “Want some coffee? Water? Scotch?”

“No thanks.”

The following silence was heavy, save for the sound of the sink as she filled the brewer with water, and the crickets playing their songs from beyond the screen door. Wren certainly didn’t mind Jacob sticking around out of concern for Dakota’s injuries, but something about that didn’t quite ring true. She turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned back against the counter, and found him already looking at her, carefully watching her face.

“You said there was an accident with his sister?”

Wren blinked, unable to read Jacob’s blank expression. “Yes...they had the brilliant idea of sneaking out with their father’s rifle to try and snag a buck. Neither of them knew anything about firearm safety, his sister got startled by something, recoil sent her shot wide. She was 15 at the time. Dakota was only about...9, if I’m remembering right.” There was another stretch of silence between them before Wren finally narrowed her eyes at Jacob. “Why?”

“He said he’d been hunting before. Pretty clear out there he hasn’t.”

“Getting shot doesn’t really constitute as hunting experience, no.”

Jacob braced an arm against the table, leaning his weight forward. “Between then and now, nobody’s taught him anything? What about their father?” The hesitance on Wren’s part seemed to prove answer enough, and Jacob’s expression turned dark. “Didn’t take the news well?”

“He nearly broke a bottle over the girl’s head for it.” Joseph’s weird biographical gospel had been pretty telling on how the Seeds suffered at the hands of their own father, so Jacob’s brewing fury wasn’t a surprise. Wren wondered if he’d already had his suspicions, if that was the reason he brought Dakota along in the first place.

She turned away and focused on making her coffee, disengaging from Jacob’s anger. “It seems you’ve made quite the impression on Dakota. He could’ve gone to anyone in this county to learn how to hunt, but he lied just so he could go with you.”

Without looking, Wren could feel Jacob pause. She bit back a smile as she stirred her coffee, taking the moment to reward herself with a shot of Kahlua alongside the creamer. When she turned to face him again, Jacob was looking away out the window, leaning back with his arms crossed. “Yeah, well. He nearly got his ass killed for it. I didn’t think I’d have to tell him not to keep snacks in his goddamn pockets.”

“Good _lord_. Peanut butter and crackers? Trail mix?”

“Beef jerky.”

Wren rolled her eyes, exaggerating the gesture as much as she could. “That sounds like him, alright.” The table was already a bit crowded, but Wren could feel her leg starting to ache, so she moved and took a seat across from Jacob, ignoring the look he gave her. “What happened to the bear? I can’t imagine you managed to haul its corpse to your truck with Dakota like that.”

Jacob shook his head. “I only managed to chase it off. It might recover if I don’t manage to track it down first.”

“Grizzly or black bear?”

“Black.”

“Ah, well. You’ve got all season for it, at least.” Wren took a sip from the cup and closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of both the coffee and the alcohol. “I’ll take him home in the morning.”

“I’ll do it.” She blinked and raised a brow, but Jacob’s mind seemed to be elsewhere, as if he hardly registered he was still sitting in her kitchen. “Might have a few _words_ with his dad.”

Wren had attempted the same on a few occasions, but she hardly cut an imposing figure, short and soft and having to haul herself out of her car with the oak cane that Dakota’s father soon after _snapped in half_ the last time she’d raised her voice at him. A small part of her was horrified imagining what Jacob might do to the man—the rest of her was morbidly pleased that Jacob was apparently willing to put his money where his mouth is.

After taking a long drink and considering, Wren nodded. “I don’t have a spare bed, but the armchair reclines all the way back. I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.” Jacob started to open his mouth, but Wren held up a hand to stop him. “Whether you end up using it or not, you are my _guest_ and you are not laying down until I’ve at least given you the bare minimum of comfort.”

He gave her an amused smile as she stood up. “Whatever you say, doc.”

The gossip came later that Dakota’s father had skipped town. One morning he was simply gone, truck and wallet gone with him. No one bothered to file a missing persons report, either believing that he left of his own volition or just glad enough to be rid of him.

Wren didn’t see much of Jacob after that until he began asking for supplies, but she’d noticed that Dakota was spending more time out hunting with Jacob and less time getting patched up in her clinic. As far as she could tell, it was a perfectly happy ending.

It’s a few days after the picnic that Jacob invites himself over to her house. Something about being in the neighborhood and getting some paperwork, and even though Wren knows he’s bullshitting, she’s had a long day and would rather just give him what he wants to get him off her porch.

Wren’s house is largely the same compared to when Jacob had last been there a little over a year ago. The furniture is entirely unchanged, save for the worn-out loveseat Don helped replace in favor of a futon. Rook was the only one who ever ended up using it; after Dakota, there hadn’t been any other surprise patients at her home. None that needed a bed, at least.

Jacob is as uninterested in the furniture as Wren expected, but he does decide to inspect the photos and trinkets lining the large bookshelf on the back wall. As much as she doesn’t want him snooping, Wren knows well enough that it’s not worth fighting him over—an unstoppable force meets and immovable object and all that. She’s busy anyway, sifting through several folders thick with bundles of documents, pulling anything that might be relevant to Jacob’s areas of expertise.

There’s not much worth noting among the knickknacks. Most had accumulated over the years, received as gifts across various holidays, ranging from a porcelain figure of her avian namesake to the sun-faded postcard sent from her cousin’s trip to Manila. The few frames sitting on the shelf all display photos from what little of the Montana wilderness she’s managed to explore. She’d considered photography a hobby of sort at one point, but quickly found the physical effort far outweighed the reward.

The bookshelf spans most of the wall, and Wren pays Jacob no mind as he takes his time looking through the assorted display. The first time she heard him pick something up, she gave him the cursory warning that he’ll pay for anything he drops. “Relax, I’m not going to break your kitschy shit,” he called back without looking to her, more amusement than bark in his tone. She continued to ignore him after that, even as she heard the occasional movement of ceramic or wood.

Eventually Jacob strolls back over to the other side of the coffee table. Wren looks up to say something, but pauses when she sees the large snow globe in his hands. She makes a sharp mental pivot, only barely managing to not stumble over her own words. “Careful—that’s an antique.”

“I can tell,” Jacob says with a snort, eying the faded paint of the diorama inside. “Seattle?”

The Space Needle is a dead giveaway, but it’s an accurately detailed model of downtown beyond that. Pike Place Market’s sign is visible, as well as the Macy’s star, appropriately lit for the winter setting. Wren can’t help the wave of nostalgia that crashes over her from looking at it, and she has to take a moment to collect herself before speaking. “My grandmother gave it to me as a kid when I used to live there. Couldn’t bear to part with it, I guess.” She makes a circular motion with her finger. “Check the bottom.”

Jacob flips the base of the snow globe, and there’s a clear spark of curiosity as he spots the wind-up key. He gives it a few full twists before setting the globe down properly on the table, and Wren smiles when the music box starts playing. It takes a moment, but Jacob manages to place the tune as it gets to the chorus. “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?”

“ _Raindrops keep falling on my head, they keep falling,_ ” Wren sings along with the music before turning her attention back to the files in hand. “…You know. Because it rains in Seattle.”

“Yeah, I got that. Seattle isn’t exactly the Wild West.”

Neither of them speak as the music continues playing, Wren humming the tune by heart and ignoring the weight of Jacob’s gaze. When she finally looks back up, she’s startled by how… _soft_ his expression is. He looks lost in thought, and when their eyes meet, the warmth in them is unmistakable. She’s not sure if it’s the gentle _plink_ of the music box or the glitter drifting around the glycerin of miniature Seattle, but there’s a distinct shift between them that Wren can’t quite put a name to.

If she didn’t know any better, she might call it “affection,” and the thought makes her blood run cold.

Wren suddenly straightens up and drops the files onto the table, Jacob snapping to attention in turn. “I doubt the agricultural research would interest you, so here. This should keep you busy.”

Jacob puts his hand on the stack and spreads the files out across the table, glancing over the titles. One of them makes him pause. “What, ‘native plants’ aren’t agriculture?”

“Not in an industrial sense. You’re a survivalist, you know foraging is an important skill.” As soon as Jacob starts to furrow his brows, Wren sighs loudly and rolls her eyes. “Sorry it isn’t as _cool_ and _macho_ as hunting, but knowing which berries are going to liquefy your insides is just as important as firing a gun.” None of the local flora are quite that toxic, as far as Wren is aware, but that’s hardly the point.

Jacob doesn’t offer any further protest and instead seems to contemplate the files before him. He flips one open and half-heartedly looks through it, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. Wren watches him closely, waiting for him to complain or refuse or some other combative behavior, but when Jacob looks to Wren again, he flashes a sharp grin she’s immediately wary of.

“How about you and I take a little trip through the woods together.” It’s not a question—Jacob seems to already be decided on the matter and doesn’t sound very interested in whether or not Wren wants to accept.

She doesn’t. “If you’re planning on murdering me and hiding the body, you’re not being very subtle about it.”

“If this is important shit to know, shouldn’t you also learn it?” Wren curses internally at having her logic flipped on her and Jacob is clearly reveling in it. “Come on. I’ll take you up to the Whitetails and we can practice looking at shrubs.”

Pursing her lips, Wren leans back and crosses her arms, shooting a pointed look at the cane propped up against her seat. “In case you haven’t realized, hiking isn’t exactly easy for me.”

“My truck is built for off-roading and there’s plenty of ATVs for rent out there.” Jacob mirrors her by leaning back, stretching his arms out to rest over the back of the couch. It makes him look even bigger, as if Wren needed to be reminded of the size difference between them. “Worse comes to worse, I’ll just carry you.”

“Oh, yes, because being lugged through the forest over your shoulder is _so_ much more appealing.”

“I could do it bridal style if you want.” Wren is certainly not a petite woman, and doubt is plain as day on her face. Jacob watches the gears turning in her head and laughs. “I know for a fact I can lift you and I can do it right now if you want a demonstration.”

If she were being completely honest, the temptation is there, but Wren maintains her self-control and shakes her head. “I’m willing to take your word on it, I just don’t understand why you’re trying to get me to go with you. What do you get out of this?”

Jacob looks genuinely surprised by the question, until his confusion is replaced with amusement and a smirk. “You’re a paranoid piece of work, you know that?”

“It’s not paranoia if you’re _right_.”

“Would you believe me if I said I enjoy your company and just want to spend time with you?”

“No.” He laughs, even as Wren narrows her eyes at him. “What do you take me for?”

Jacob raises his hands in surrender before scooping up the folders and standing. “Listen, doc—I get why you’re suspicious of Eden’s Gate, but you’ve been torturing yourself for years over ‘what-if’s. Maybe it’s time to stop assuming the worst of everyone and let yourself relax a little.”

Wren wants to immediately rebuke him, of course. For all she knows, they’ve been waiting all this time for her to finally let her guard down, and the moment she does, they’ll…they’ll…

They’ll _what_?

Something’s wrong with them, she’s certain of that, but maybe it doesn’t run as deep as she fears. They’re weirdos and Joseph is a manipulative freak, but it’s not like they’re walking around with an armed militia and policing the county. Besides, she’s been loud about her opposition to the group and too many people know her—even if Jacob _were_ going to try to get rid of her, there’s no way to make her quietly disappear. Rook would make sure of that, if nothing else.

Wren stares at Jacob long and hard, searching his face for malicious intent. He’s a smug piece of shit, but she has a hard time imagining that he would ever try to _hurt_ her. If he wanted to, he could have done it a long time ago. He could physically force her to go with him, threaten her into cooperating rather than trying to convince her.

Jacob stares back, waiting patiently, looking not quite confident, but... _hopeful_.

She knows better than this. She’s spent her whole life protecting herself, and she knows that trusting people like Jacob Seed for even a moment is dangerous.

She also knows that Jacob Seed is one of the only people in the county as blunt as she is. He doesn’t bullshit around to spare people’s feelings, he couldn’t care less about the social politics that come with living in a small community. Aside from the tension that comes from his brother’s business, Jacob is someone that’s easy to talk to, to spend a comfortable silence with.

Ah, hell.

Not like Wren doesn’t have her own family baggage.

With a resigned sigh, Wren takes her glasses off and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Fine, but I’m going to stop and take pictures the whole time, no matter how annoying it gets.”

Jacob grins in satisfaction, though behind the usual smug attitude, he seems almost relieved. “For your little survival guide, or for your photo collection?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave any questions or comments below or @ vault11overseer on tumblr.


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